A rainy evening in the city. The streets glisten under the lamplight, and the smell of wet pavement lingers in the air. A small coffee shop stays open late, nearly empty.

⸻

Detective James Hale sat in the corner booth, his coat damp and his tie loosened. Case files were spread out before him—photographs, reports, notes written in sharp, hurried script. He rubbed his temples, exhausted from chasing leads that went nowhere.

The bell above the door jingled.

A young woman stepped inside, shaking rain from her umbrella. She looked around hesitantly before noticing the only other customer in the shop—the man with the intense eyes and a face that looked like it hadn’t smiled in a long time.

“Excuse me,” she said softly, approaching the counter. “Do you have anything still warm?”

The barista shrugged. “Just coffee and a few muffins left.”

James glanced up, just for a moment. Something about her—maybe the way her voice trembled, or the smudge of dirt on her sleeve—made him pause. He didn’t realize he was staring until she caught his gaze.

Their eyes met. A flicker of recognition? Or just curiosity? He couldn’t tell.

When she sat a few tables away, James found himself closing one of his files. The name on the top—E. Lawson—matched the name she’d given when she ordered.

He froze. The case he’d been working on for weeks just got a lot more interesting.